


BamBam's Bullies

by FancyMeetingYouHere



Series: The Bodyguard [1]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, BamBam is Jackson's kid, Mark is a personal guard, Mark is soft for BamBam, mark is badass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22634419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyMeetingYouHere/pseuds/FancyMeetingYouHere
Summary: The most important rule of being a personal guard would be this: don’t get attached. Mark, after sternly telling himself not to, got attached to a set of curious and mischievous doe eyes belonging to an equally curious and mischievous eight-year-old. He’s convinced that the first rule is an impossibility when being personal guard to a child.
Series: The Bodyguard [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1631491
Comments: 30
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, before we start, I might turn this into a series of one-shots all playing in the same universe. Basically, I'm too busy to turn this into a full-fledged fic but REALLY want to write about Mark as BamBam's bodyguard with Jackson as worried father. This will eventually become Markson if I do that, just a little warning.
> 
> Other than that, I hope someone enjoys reading this as much as I did writing it. Please, leave me a comment if you can!

The most important rule of being a personal guard would be this: don’t get attached. It’s dangerous and painful to both sides, as Mark has seen. Luckily, it’s also hardly an issue with most of his clients. The rich and powerful, the snobby and spiteful are the only ones with a paycheck large enough to afford Mark’s services. He doesn’t care. The money is all the same and he gave up trying to believe in ‘changing the world’ years ago. If they pay, Mark goes, answering JYP’s calls and protecting whomever requires it.

Which is what he did two months ago as well, and now he’s struggling with the most important rule. Because Mark, after sternly telling himself not to, got attached to a set of curious and mischievous doe eyes belonging to an equally curious and mischievous eight-year-old. He’s convinced that the first rule is an impossibility when being personal guard to a child, and honestly resents Jaebeom for even suggesting him.

Because now, here he is, driving little BamBam to and from school and his other daily activities, and trying his damn hardest not to care about the silent sniffles coming from the back seat for the second day in a row.

_Fucking impossible, Jaebeom you **ass**._

He clears his throat at the next red light and glances back, catching BamBam’s eyes for a millisecond before the boy is looking down again. Mark sighs. He’s doomed.

“Hey, BamBam,” he tries casually once they’re moving again. “Did something happen at school today?”

BamBam doesn’t make a sound, and when Mark glances back again he sees the boy silently shaking his head. It breaks something in Mark. Throwing on his blinker, Mark slowly eases the car to the side. There’s a parking space not too far ahead on the right, and with precision he pulls the car in and stops. Turns off the engine. Turns around. BamBam is still staring at the floor, legs dangling in the air due to his smaller than average stature.

Mark sighs. “I’m not going to tell your father. You know that, right?” Which is rhetorical, because of course BamBam doesn’t, but Mark has also become aware of the worshipping BamBam does when it comes to his father. CEO of Wang Industries and music producer extraordinaire Jackson Wang has a nasty habit of making everyone love him, but then proceeds to forget his son does too. In the two months Mark has been here, he’s seen Jackson with BamBam a grand total of three times. BamBam gushes about his father 24/7, but Mark has never seen them do anything remotely father/son-like. It makes him believe that if BamBam really does have a problem, his father will quite possibly be the last person he ever tells.

He's proven right when BamBam peeks up, eyes red and dripping tears. “You won’t tell him I cried?”

“I won’t,” Mark promises. It hurts, though. What eight-year-old tries this hard to hide his tears from his own father? Mark leans closer with a soft smile. “Do you want to tell me _why_ you’re crying?”

BamBam shrugs and looks out the window. His breath hitches and two seconds later words spill out as if he’s been at the point of bursting for days. “There’s a career-day tomorrow and all the parents in my class are coming, but I know dad’s busy so he can’t make it, but he didn’t make it last year either and- and Yeon-U and Minhyuk said that I’m a liar and that I don’t have parents.” He hiccups and blinks at the scenery. “They said my dad doesn’t have any kids and that I’m fake.”

Mark knows he’s screwed when BamBam brings up a sleeve to rub the tears off his face, hopelessness dragging his little shoulders down. The next moment he’s holding one of BamBam’s trembling hands in his and gives it a comforting squeeze.

“They’re wrong,” he says, but BamBam doesn’t believe him if the boy’s desolate expression is anything to go by. Mark wracks his brain, trying to find a solution beyond beating up two eight-year-old little shits, then smiles as the pieces of a plan form.

“Did you ask your father?”

BamBam blinks at him. “About what?”

“The career-day,” Mark explains, still holding BamBam’s hand. “Did you ask him if he can come?”

BamBam shakes his head. “He’s busy,” he sniffles, “I don’t want to bother him.”

Because BamBam is a good kid under all the sassy remarks and pranks. Time for plan B.

“Okay,” Mark smiles and pulls his arm back, turning back around to face the road and fire up the engine. “Then how about we ask him?”

The fierce denial comes quickly, BamBam’s wide eyes terrified at the suggestion. “No way,” he shrieks, “dad’s busy at the company! I can’t bother him there, I won’t!”

“Who said anything about going to the company?” Mark answers angelically, pressing a few buttons on the car’s steering wheel before moving back into traffic. A female voice comes through the speakers.

“Calling, Jackson Wang.”

BamBam’s shriek is shrill and cut off by the boy slapping his hands in front of his mouth. “You said you wouldn’t tell him!” He accuses muffled.

“I’m not going to,” Mark answers patiently. “I’m simply giving him my daily report a little early.”

BamBam looks confused when Mark glances back, because the boy has no idea about the two pictures of BamBam Jackson carries around in his wallet, or that distancing BamBam from Jackson’s life is done to try and keep the boy out of the spotlight and harm’s way, or about the threat toward BamBam that came in two months ago which prompted Mark’s hiring, or the report Mark is required to send Jackson after every day, detailing BamBam’s whereabouts.

BamBam has no clue how much his father loves him because Jackson Wang is horrible when it comes to feelings. However, Mark knows everything, because Mark broke the first rule.

The phone rings twice, then Jackson’s rushed voice booms out of the car’s speakers.

“Tuan! What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

The obvious worry makes Mark smile minimally, then he’s answering with the clinical finesse required of his job. “Nothing’s wrong, sir. I’m currently driving BamBam home from school and your son has a question for you. It’s a little time-sensitive so he called.”

“A question?” Jackson sounds epically confused. “What- BamBam, are you there? Am I on speaker?”

Mark almost sniggers at how young Jackson sounds right now. Granted, the man is twenty-six and Mark himself is only half a year older, but Jackson Wang is never seen flustered or fumbling with words. It’s good to know there’s still this side to him. It makes him more human.

After an encouraging glance from Mark, BamBam drops his hands and bites his lip, then drags in a breath. “Hi, dad.” He fiddles with his hands in his lap. “Are we bothering you?”

“Uhm, no?” Jackson’s confusion is less now, but there’s no anger to speak of which is probably what BamBam was scared of. Mark suppresses a knowing smile.

“BamBam, what do you need to ask me?” Jackson says.

BamBam’s voice trembles. “I- there’s, uhm, tomorrow, there’s career-day at school and the teacher asked if you could come.”

Jackson sighs and BamBam blurts out.

“But I told them you’re busy. I know- I know you’re busy dad. It’s not important, I’m sorry.” His eyes are once again glued to the floor and Mark waits patiently, knowing he won’t be disappointed if he’s still as good a judge of character as always. Jackson doesn’t let him down.

“BamBam,” he speaks softly, “why didn’t you tell me this sooner? It _is_ important.”

BamBam looks close to crying again when Mark flicks his eyes to the rearview mirror. He decides to but in.

“Some students at school suggested you weren’t real,” he tells Jackson to the wide-eyed surprise of BamBam. “They accused BamBam of lying when it comes to being your son and BamBam didn’t want to disturb you with something he felt would be unimportant to you.”

It's as clear as Mark can make it without literally spelling out where Jackson went wrong, but the other isn’t dumb. He created a whole empire before the age of thirty, so Mark has _some_ hope concerning his mental capabilities.

“What?” Jackson breathes, then his voice hardens. “They said you’re not my son?! That’s ridiculous! Who said that!”

“No one,” BamBam hiccups, “I don’t even know them that well.”

“When I get my hands on them-” Jackson cuts himself off with a growl, finally sounding sufficiently pissed off. Mark smirks in his mind. He knew Jackson cared. Time for the final part of the plan.

“It’s easily fixed,” he says airily. “If you were to show up tomorrow, even just for an hour or two, they’d be spectacularly proven wrong, wouldn’t they?”

There’s a loaded silence, then Jackson comes through again.

“BamBam.” The boy in question leans forward, lip still being worried between his teeth. “I’ll call your teacher and get things sorted for tomorrow. I won’t be able to stay the entire day, but I’ll make time to be there, okay?”

The smile suddenly radiating in his backseat could rival the sun, and Mark no longer cares he loves his charge a little too much. BamBam deserves the world.

“Really?!” The boy chirps. “You’ll really come?!”

“Of course,” Jackson’s smile translates and BamBam bounces in place.

“You’re the coolest, dad! Thank you! I can show you my class and introduce you to miss Jeon! She’s really nice!”

Mark can see Jaebeom smirking in his head. _You’re such a softy when it comes to kids._

 _Yes_ , Mark agrees, stealing glances of BamBam’s excited face in the backseat, _I totally am._

Then Jackson’s voice gains a small edge. “Tuan.”

Mark tries not to smirk and answers in a professional manner. “Yes, sir?”

“When your shift ends, come see me. We need to talk.”

Mark answers with another ‘yes, sir’, BamBam much too excited about tomorrow to pick up on the tension between them, then Mark hangs up after the required goodbye’s.

BamBam’s smile stays for the rest of the day, even when he’s doing his homework. Mark knows it’s dumb, but he’s fighting the urge to join the boy for the rest of his shift. Which ends when BamBam goes to bed at nine. The night-crew takes over, Mark nods at Junsoo and Taemin, then hops in his car and sets course for Wang Industries. He already knows what this ‘talk’ will be about, but can’t find it in himself to be apologetic about it.

The company is mostly dark when Mark gets there at around half past nine. The electric doors have a delay in opening, probably because someone is watching the security cameras and only allowing those with business there to enter. Mark gives the hidden camera a sloppy salute, then hides his grin by ducking his head. Fucking around with security is somewhat of a guilty pleasure of his.

Inside, there’s gleaming walls and freshly cleaned floors, the reception dark and abandoned after opening hours. The elevator is off to the right and Mark walks over with keen eyes, noting three more cameras in the lobby alone. Jackson Wang does not mess around with security, it seems. Then again, Mark already knew that, because Jackson hired him.

Usually, when people hire Mark, they’re at a last resort type of situation, or really fucking scared.

The elevator dings, doors opening to reveal a crème colored inside and mirrors on the back wall. Mark’s reflection stares back with calculating eyes and a small frown (his default expression, he’s been told) and he makes an effort to smooth out the lines in his face. No need to set Jackson off anymore than he already has. Unexpected, Jackson’s office lies near the center of the building (the sixth floor) instead of at the top (the building having nine) and Mark trails along the brightly lit hallways, occasional posters of Jackson with other musicians lining the walls. It’s interesting the man doesn’t put any of his pictures with CEO’s or other powerhouses up here, only artists.

Mark files the information away for later, as he does with everything else that catches his eye.

Two quick raps of his knuckles on the door at the end of the hall and a ‘come in’ later, and Mark is standing in front of Jackson’s desk, stance casual and unconcerned as Jackson frowns at him.

“Tuan,” Jackson starts, because Mark got too used to his clients only ever using his last name to the point where he simply introduces himself with it. It stuck.

“BamBam didn’t ask you to call me, did he.” Jackson says disapprovingly. It’s not a question, but Mark still answers.

“He did not, sir.”

Jackson raises an eyebrow. “Nor did he tell you, to tell _me_ about those kids bullying him, did he.”

Once again, Mark answers. “No, sir.”

Jackson purses his lips and nods, sharp eyes regarding Mark. It’s times like these Mark understands how this man become so successful. His gaze feels like it can pierce through Mark. Not a feat many men can pull off considering Mark’s background.

“In that case,” Jackson leans back in his chair, face hard and voice unforgiving. “That whole call was a stint thought up by you to get me to go to BamBam’s career-day. To-” he brings up his hands to air-quote,- “’spectacularly prove them wrong’, wasn’t it.”

Mark knows he can’t start smirking, but it’s never been more difficult to keep the expression of his face, Jackson’s anger or no.

“Indeed, sir,” he answers formally.

Jackson keeps looking at him, the intensity almost makes him squirm. Then the other man’s expression softens somewhat and gains a hint of curiosity. “Are you afraid of me?” He poses without any preamble.

The new line of question throws Mark and he blinks, then needs to refrain from blatantly laughing. He can’t help the small twitch of his lips. “Not in the slightest, sir.”

Jackson snorts. “You do realize I could fire you, have you thrown out of JYP, and make sure you never work in security ever again in Korea? And all of that before I go to sleep?”

It sounds like a challenge, a glint in Jackson’s eyes making Mark lose his formal composure and he gains a hint of sass. Mark’s never been very good at backing down from a challenge.

“I’m aware, sir,” he responds as he crosses his arms. “But then again you have insomnia, so there’s no telling when you’ll sleep next. That gives me some wiggle room.”

Jackson almost smiles. There’s a tiny curve of his lips and a glimmer of shock on his face, before he wipes it away quite literally with a hand. “I see,” he answers instead. He stares at his desk full of papers and blows out a breath, ruffling a few loose pages lying at the top.

“I don’t know who you are, Tuan,” he eventually says, voice serious, “but I trust Jaebeom. That does not mean I appreciate someone meddling with affairs between me and my son, as well-meant as you think you are. Is that clear?” This time the glint isn’t a challenge but a threat, and Mark wonders how little Jaebeom told Jackson for the other to think it’ll actually work.

He barely refrains from rolling his eyes. “Crystal, sir.”

It takes a single beat, then Jackson lets out a disbelieving laugh, leaning forward in his chair and putting his forearms on his desk. “You’re not going to stop, are you?”

Mark looks him straight in the eye. “Probably not.” Because he already broke the first rule, and seeing BamBam cry wrenches something in his chest.

“Why?” Jackson demands. “Why do you even _care?”_

_Because you don’t seem to know how to._

Mark clears his throat. “Because you love your son, but think staying away from him will save him from further threats. Because your son loves you, but is too afraid to tell you anything because he idolizes you and doesn’t want to be a bother. Because you’re both wrong and no one seems to have the guts to tell you that.” He shrugs when Jackson gapes, adding with a little smile. “And because you hired me to keep BamBam from being hurt and I’m _really_ good at what I do.”

Jackson continues to gape, then seems to realize what he’s doing and snaps his mouth shut. He stands up with a nervous hand raking through his hair, eyes flying all over, then settles his gaze back on Mark. He swallows.

“Oh.”

Mark needs to _not_ giggle. He manages by biting the inside of his cheek. Jackson blows out a breath. “I really _could_ fire you, you know.”

“I know.”

His answer is obviously not what Jackson expected, the other tapping a foot and frowning as he regards Mark. “I really don’t get why you’re doing this, but-” he hesitates, expression bordering on vulnerable. “Is BamBam really afraid to talk to me because he thinks he’s a burden?”

Mark nods and Jackson’s face gains pained lines. In a calm voice, Mark adds. “I know you think keeping him away from you will keep him safe, but that’s what you hired _me_ for. There’s no need to run from your own son. It’s only hurting the both of you.”

Jackson shoots him a baleful look. “I don’t remember psychiatry being one of your specialties,” he mutters.

“I’m just observing,” Mark counters, “anyone with eyes can see you’re tearing yourself apart for all the wrong reasons.”

With sharp movements, Jackson snaps his desk drawer open and pulls out multiple sheets of paper. Some have actual writing, others hold pasted newspaper words. Mark can already guess what they are before Jackson starts talking and his heart speeds up in anger.

“They call themselves _fans_ ,” Jackson spits out, slamming the papers down on a stack of documents near Mark and presenting them with a hateful flourish of his hands. “Some outright say BamBam should die because he’s hampering my career, others say I should send him away because they hate I have a child. Because _they_ want to give me _their_ child.” He stabs the papers with an angry finger, Mark’s stomach nothing but a shriveled organ in the face of people’s cruel ignorance and self-righteousness.

“BamBam is my _son_ ,” Jackson hisses, “and anyone saying he isn’t needs to get their head checked. Yes, I’ve been trying to keep him out of the spotlight because I don’t want him anywhere near this kind of hatred, but I am _not_ doing it for the _wrong reasons.”_

“You’re doing it for BamBam.” Mark concludes, which was obvious from the start, but hardly fixes the problem. Jackson nods, throwing the threats back into his drawer with a grave face.

“I know I’m barely a good father, but I love my boy more than anything. Which is why I won’t fire you, because Jaebeom said you were the best.” He drags in an angry breath. “But don’t ever presume to know what’s going on between me and my son.”

Mark supposes that’s fair and he gives a curt nod. “Understood, but you should know BamBam misses you.”

Jackson’s shoulders sag and he stares forlornly at his desk filled with more documents than Mark will ever want to read. “I miss him too,” he confesses.

It seems like the end of it, Jackson dropping back in his chair with a solemn look and a dismissive hand. Mark gives a short bow, then walks away. Just before he’s out the door he turns back.

“One last thing.”

Jackson regards him with a tired gaze. “What now, Tuan.”

“You’re wrong,” Mark says to Jackson’s surprise. “Despite popular believe, you’re actually a pretty decent father.” He gives a small twitch of his lips. “You hired me, didn’t you?”

Jackson looks like he might smile at that, a real smile, but Mark’s gone before he can verify his assumption.


	2. Epilogue

The first time BamBam is exposed to the hate-mail Jackson’s been receiving (apart from Mark being hired which was explained as BamBam being a big boy and needing his own security just like his father), Mark ends destroying a punching bag at the gym because he’s legally and morally prohibited from punching BamBam’s ‘attacker’.

It wasn’t so much an attacker as it was a snobbish ten-year-old, whose mommy and daddy apparently have their own haughty opinions when it comes to Jackson becoming a father when he was eighteen and still building a million-won empire. Be it jealousy or general snobbery, the boy sneered at BamBam during their break that Jackson’s life would be better if BamBam had never been born.

“Your father will never amount to anything unless you die, everyone says so,” had apparently been his exact words, and Mark had needed to remind himself he shouldn’t kill a ten-year-old … or the ten-year-old’s parents.

After the fateful career-day incident, Mark’s been giving Jackson little updates here and there about BamBam’s moods and any possible bullies. He never again made it as blatantly obvious as that first time, and Jackson has never reprimanded him for it again either. It’s now a habit to give Jackson some inside information regarding his son and watch the results as Jackson spends more and more time with BamBam.

Mark’s oddly proud of it all.

This time, when he tells Jackson what BamBam confessed to him in the privacy of their car, Jackson goes stone-faced, then puts his fist through the drywall in his office. Mark’s hardly bothered by the clear display of violence (he almost joins him) but tuts all the same.

“You’ll have to start paying me double if I’m going to be your guard as well,” he quips as he’s bandaging Jackson’s hand right after. Jackson doesn’t respond. The man doesn’t say a word as he catches a ride with Mark back home, abandoning his work for the first time since Mark’s known him, and beelining for BamBam’s room when they get back to the house. It takes one full minute of sitting in the dark and quiet car on the Wang’s ridiculously large driveway for Mark to groan and unbuckle, disturbing the night as he slams the car door and locks it. Then he trudges up the steps leading to the front door and enters.

BamBam’s room is to the back of the monstrous bungalow Jackson purchased over a year ago. The hallway is still dark, as are the rest of the rooms, but Mark no longer needs light to find his way after three months of navigating this place. After two turns, he finds BamBam’s bedroom door ajar, soft voices floating out along with a strip of light.

Mark tells himself he shouldn’t eaves-drop. He does it anyway.

“…just a mistake?” BamBam’s sobs come through loud and clear as Mark hides in the shadows just behind the door. Jackson’s voice is low and soothing in response.

“No, Bammie, you are wanted and loved. I have never regretted being your father, you hear me? I love you.”

BamBam keeps crying. “But I don’t wanna be a burden! I don’t wanna hold you back!”

“Shhh, baby, it’s okay. You’ve _never_ held me back.” Jackson sooths him as Mark balls his fists so tight he feels his joints pop.

“You’re my inspiration, BamBam. You’re my little muse, you rascal.” His voice goes think with emotion. “People say really mean things sometimes because they don’t understand. They don’t understand how much I love you.”

There’s silence in which BamBam’s sobs become sniffles and Mark’s heart breaks twenty times. He needs to find who did this and _hurt them._ Protecting BamBam is his actual goddamn job, and these fuckers just messed with the wrong kid.

“Dad?” BamBam’s voice is soft and insecure, making Mark lean closer to the door. “Do people really think I should be dead?”

Mark flinches away from the door with a snarl. He’s running back through the house soundlessly before he knows why, stuffing his feet in his shoes and sprinting for his car without listening to the rest of that conversation. The snake in his chest is curling and biting, venom flowing through his veins as he thinks of the wide smile in his backseat and _do people really think I should be dead?_

_Not while I’m breathing_ , Mark sneers in his head. He throws the car into gear, almost clipping the slow-opening gate as he peels away from the house. With a few clicks the on-car phone is ringing, and two minutes later Mark has names and an address. It’s time to get to work.

* * *

The next day, Jackson brings BamBam to school, meaning father and son are in the backseat while Mark chauffeurs. It’s silent all the way, BamBam nervously wringing his hands until Jackson finally takes them in one of his own and holds them for the rest of the ride. Mark once again feels an odd sense of pride.

When they get there, Jackson and BamBam go in, leaving Mark to wait in the car. It takes barely four minutes before Jackson is coming back again, his eyes trained on Mark’s side-profile the entire walk up to the car. Mark pretends not to notice as he fiddles with the radio. This time, Jackson drops into the front seat, turning to look at Mark with a neutral expression after he closes the door.

“Tuan,” he starts, which is how he always starts, Mark has noticed. He hums in recognition, eyes still on the radio. Jackson huffs.

“Tuan, look at me.”

Mark does.

Jackson narrows his eyes. “What exactly did you do?”

“With the radio?” Mark plays dumb with a small smile. “Nothing much, just changed the channel.”

“With the kid!” Jackson huffs, crossing his arms in the small space to Mark’s entertainment. It hunches up Jackson’s shoulders, the man by no means small. “What the hell did you do to that little bastard?”

Mark _smiles_ , teeth on full display. It stumps Jackson enough his shoulders sag and he blinks repeatedly, which reminds Mark he’s never really smiled like that in front of Jackson before…or shown any real emotion. Oh well. He smiles and holds it as he thinks of last night, then gives the simplest answer he can.

“I did my job.”

Mark never offers anything else and Jackson doesn’t push. The offending boy is inexplicably pulled out of school by his parents and the family moves halfway across the country.

Every single parent makes sure their kids leave BamBam alone after that.

(Mark may have visited more than one house that night. Like he said, he’s good at what he does.)


End file.
